


Falling into Place

by elfin (crazylittleelf)



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M, OT3 by proxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liv and Lincoln go out for an evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling into Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kerithwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The One Where Olivia is Bored](https://archiveofourown.org/works/321762) by [kerithwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn). 



> 'Rith wanted a fic based on a line from [The One Where Olivia Is Bored](http://archiveofourown.org/works/321762), and I was happy to oblige.
> 
> As in that story, this is blue!Olivia-as-red!Olivia, before the memories start (completely) surfacing.

Liv flings the door to the apartment open, still tugging her shirt down.

"You're… early…" She trails off and stares at Lincoln, who apparently took the opportunity to go all out.

The pants and t-shirt are black and probably not actually painted on, but might as well be. His hair is spikier than usual, and she didn't really think that was possible. The tips of the spikes are blue. His eyes are rimmed with eye liner and mascara, smudges of silver glitter on his cheeks and his lips are glossy and pink. She strongly considers dragging him into the apartment and tying him to her bed. He grins at her.

"You like?"

"It is completely not fair that you are prettier than me. Are those pants _leather_?"

Lincoln laughs. "Nah, not real leather, but they look pretty good, right?"

She lets her fingers linger on his hip and says, "Understatement." She turns away to grab her jacket.

"This is kind of weird. Us going out alone."

He's right, but she says, "There's nothing that says we can't go out together."

Only there sort of is, and she's not sure why she's willing to break the unwritten rules of their relationship now, especially like this where there's really no chance of the evening ending any way other than her sprawled on Lincoln's bed. She thinks she should be worried about that, how she's so willing to upset the balance of things, but she isn't. She thinks she should be worried about what's going to happen when Frank comes home, but she isn't worried about that, either.

Lincoln's watching her closely, eyes hooded under the dark fan of his eyelashes.

"We can go out together if we want to, Lincoln."

"Okay," he says softly.

The place they go to is one Lincoln suggested after making faces at the club she usually goes to, and she's not even going to pretend to be surprised that he's got _opinions_ about strip clubs. The place is nice, reasonably clean, with a dance floor on one side and three catwalk stages on the other. The clientele is mostly men, but there are enough women that Liv doesn't feel like she's wandered somewhere she shouldn't be. The music's got a more electronic feel than she's used to, complete with bass so low that it throbs in the pit of her stomach. She arches an eyebrow at Lincoln when one of the bartenders waves at him.

"What, you think I stay at home pining when you and Charlie don't feel like going out?"

"You're lost without us," she snarks back at him.

The stage side of the club isn't too crowded yet and they grab a table right up front. There's enough variety in the music and dancers to keep things entertaining, and Lincoln even talks her into trying some vividly blue drink that doesn't taste nearly as bad as she thinks it's going to. He gives her a funny look when she orders a second one, but he doesn't say anything. She's feeling relaxed and warm when Lincoln scoots his chair closer to hers, drapes an arm around her shoulders. She slumps in her chair until she's pressed against his side, humming approval when he rests his hand on her thigh. His fingers drum against her leg, trace little patterns there in time with the music, and Liv's attention is far more focused on him than on anyone else.

The three dancers on the stage right now might as well be a boxed set - blonde, brunette, and a red-head who looks like he came by it naturally. They're swaying together in a tight knot of bare skin and muscled limbs, tiny red thongs covering half-hard cocks somehow more obscene than if they were completely naked.

Liv leans close to Lincoln, lips brushing the shell of his ear and says, "You're prettier than anyone up there."

He turns, just slightly and says, "I'm a better dancer, too."

"Prove it."

He grins, and he's up and moving before she can blink. And then all she can do is blink, because goddamn.

She's seen Lincoln dance before, at formal and causal events both. She's seen him in action at their soccer matches and admired the causal athleticism that he moves with. She's seen him naked, moving over her or Charlie or both of them together, body slick with sweat. None of that prepared her for _this_.

He's mesmerizing when he dances like this, confident and graceful, his entire body moving in time with the beat of the music. One of the dancers starts clapping for him, and Lincoln grins and lets himself be pulled up on stage. They move together, Lincoln fully clothed and the dancer nearly naked. The music shifts to a new song, slower, and they grind against each other.

The dancer leans in close and whispers something to Lincoln, and Lincoln lifts his arms and lets the other man peel his t-shirt off keeping his eyes locked on hers the whole time. Liv can't resist. She whistles at him, sharp and loud even over the music, and Lincoln throws his head back and laughs. He jumps off the stage and honest to God saunters over to her and anyone else would look ridiculous, but Lincoln looks like maybe he'd be okay quitting his day job.

His eyes never leave hers, and she flushes at the realization that while everyone in the club might be watching him, Lincoln's dancing for her alone. Lincoln grins and steps closer, standing in the vee of her sprawled legs. He braces his hands on the back of her chair. Liv's eyes track down his body, over his slick, smooth chest, his stomach, the front of his pants where the outline of his cock is clearly visible.

Liv shifts in her chair, vividly aware of the press of her jeans between her legs. Then she's got a lapful of Lincoln, grinding against her. She reaches for him, clenches her fingers in the short hair at the back of his head and drags him down for a kiss. She can hear people around them whistling, cheering, and she thinks that maybe she should be embarrassed about becoming part of the floorshow, but she isn't. All she can think is that Lincoln's lips are slick and taste like cherry lipgloss, and the weight and heat of his body feel perfect against her.

He pulls back, raises away from her on his knees, still swaying in time to the beat of the music. He licks his lips and breathes her name, just audible over the noise of the club. This time when he kisses her it's slow and soft and by the time they break away from each other, the crowd's mostly gone back to looking at whatever is happening on the stage behind his back.

"Take me home with you," Liv says.

Lincoln kisses her cheek, then brushes his lips against her ear and whispers, "Okay."


End file.
